Emma was definitely in the mood for some caffeine—preferably from a place that didn't judge her for spending too much money on coffee she could easily make at home. Café 21 was perfect. The aroma of fresh beans hit her as she walked in, and the soft hum of conversation made her feel like she wasn't totally invisible. Not that she was feeling particularly visible today. She had just made it through another week of pretending to have everything together, and honestly, coffee was the only thing holding her life together at the moment.
She ordered her usual—an oat latte, extra hot—and took a seat by the window. It was a quiet Thursday afternoon. No work emails demanding attention. No awkward social events hanging over her head. Just her, her coffee, and her thoughts.
She wasn't expecting anything to shake her out of her semi-zen state—until he walked in.
She didn't look up at first. She wasn't the type to let herself be distracted by the good-looking guy at the counter, no matter how many times she had to remind herself of that fact. But then... he happened to glance her way. And, okay, maybe it was a little bit too obvious that she was the only other person in the room who wasn't glued to their phone.
And then, before she knew it, he was walking toward her, holding his coffee like it was no big deal. It wasn't even that she cared. She didn't. Really. She was just... distracted.
"Mind if I sit here?" He asked, his voice casual but with that underlying tone of someone who'd asked this question a hundred times before.
Emma blinked, caught off guard. "Uhh, sure," she said, making a show of looking around for any other seat. As if he didn't already know there were only two seats available—both of which she was claiming.
"Thanks," he said, sitting down as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
And maybe it was. For him.
She raised an eyebrow, because why not? "You don't look like you need a seat," she said, swiping at her phone, pretending to be busy with something important, which, okay, wasn't true. But there's nothing wrong with giving the illusion of being so productive that you can't be bothered.
He chuckled, like he wasn't the least bit intimidated. "You have no idea how badly I need a seat," he said, shifting a little as if settling in for a long chat. "And besides, I'm sure I'm way more interesting than whatever's going on on your phone."
She shot him a quick, unimpressed look. "I'm sure you're not. But if it's a competition, I'm definitely winning."
He gave her a long look, grinning like he knew he'd just won some imaginary point. "Ethan, by the way," he said, taking a slow sip of his coffee.
"Emma," she replied, barely sparing him a second glance. "And you're just lucky this table was free. I don't normally let random people sit here."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "You seem fun."
"Clearly," Emma shot back, still staring at her phone.
And then... he started to get comfortable. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and looked out the window, as if he'd been there a thousand times. Emma, meanwhile, tried her best to pretend she wasn't aware of him in the least.
Until she felt his eyes on her again.
She did her best to ignore it. Because really—what was there to notice? He was just a guy, drinking coffee, probably just trying to kill time before whatever made his life interesting picked back up.
But it was hard not to notice the way his eyes kept flicking over to her, like he was waiting for her to say something, anything.